Logic, Inescapable Part VII: Epiphany

Logic, Inescapable

By HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG
Disclaimer: See Part I
Website: http://www.geocities.com/hopeful_romantic@prodigy.net/
E-mail: Hopeful_Romantic@prodigy.net
Summary: T’Les comes to a new realization about T’Pol and her Commander Tucker.
Date: 2-4-07

A/N: My thanks to the Vulcan Language Dictionary (http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/), and to my betas Misplaced, boushh, and TJ.

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Part VII: Epiphany

T’Les entered a storeroom off the hallway, where Sochya’s clothes were packed away in a large trunk of carved sher skah. As she searched for a set of ceremonial robes that would be suitable— a deep brown would complement the commander’s coloring— she heard Tucker and T’Pol’s voices from the central room, carried clearly on the late afternoon air.

“Hi.” Tucker sounded both eager and apprehensive.

T’Pol’s voice was filled with relief. “I thought you might have gone directly to the shuttleport and boarded the first transport offplanet.”

“I’m sorry for runnin’ out on you,” he replied. “I wasn’t thinkin’ straight. It was a lot to take in...” T’Les heard a soft chuckle from him. “My dad would say my brain got full. I was a little overwhelmed.”

“It is understandable.” T’Les could hear her daughter’s voice roughen with emotion. “I did not anticipate this...”

“Here, sit. I have news.”

T’Les found the dark brown robes she had been seeking. Carefully, she pulled them out. They still smelled faintly of Sochya, after all these years.

“Your mom told me that Koss’s dad has started negotiating to get her old job back for her,” the commander said.

As T’Les rose from the trunk with the robes, she heard T’Pol exhale audibly. She spoke carefully, her emotions diligently held in check. “That is agreeable news.”

T’Les could easily picture a lopsided grin on Tucker’s face. “Yeah, she’ll have to tear herself away from her gardening, I guess, to go back to work. You think she can handle it?”

“I would say so,” replied T’Pol, a trace of amusement in her voice.

T’Les peeked into the hallway. T’Pol and Tucker were seated side by side on the bench near the kitchen. Their fleeting moment of levity was already fading, leaving a pall of mingled disbelief and despair hanging in the warm air between them. T’Pol looked small and fragile. Tucker hovered close beside her, his affection plain on his face. He kept his hands tightly knotted in his lap, as though to keep them from flying out to take her in his arms.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” he said.

T’Pol’s voice was soft. “Yes.”

Tucker took a deep breath, then faced her. “Well, I’m not gonna let you go through it alone. I’ll be there. At the wedding.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes brimming with gratitude and unshed tears. Their faces were very close.

“If you want me there,” he added quietly.

T’Pol could not speak; her emotions had robbed her of her voice. Wordlessly, she nodded.

They remained physically separated, almost painfully so, but T’Les could not recall seeing two people who seemed more connected.

She turned away, feeling like an intruder, and escaped to the guest room, where she laid Sochya’s robes on the bed for Tucker to find when he returned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The priest’s party arrived precisely one hour before the ceremony was to begin. Once T’Pol had been sequestered in her bedroom to be made ready by an attendant, T’Les saw to the comfort of her guests. Then she and Tucker retired to their respective rooms to dress for the wedding.

As T’Les put on her ceremonial robes, she found herself unable to banish the image of Tucker and T’Pol in the central room, so close, but unable to touch...

She stopped, her outer robe trailing from her hand, as an epiphany struck her. She had erred in her assumptions that T’Pol’s reputation and career would best be safeguarded by marriage to Koss, and that Tucker could have no lasting impact on her future.

For years, T’Les had stood by helplessly as the increasingly corrupt and narrow-minded High Command stridently censured T’Pol merely because she was unique. After the political debacle and archaeological catastrophe of P’Jem, T’Les had little faith left in the High Command to do what was appropriate for Vulcan or its people, much less her daughter. Was it really the most logical course to tie T’Pol to such a tainted government?

And was Enterprise so unsafe a place for her, if T’Les were discovered to be a Syrrannite and arrested? T’Les was beginning to think it might be the safest place in the quadrant for her daughter— well away from the machinations of the High Command, populated by those who valued her individuality, rather than denigrated it... and in the company of a human who clearly loved her with his whole heart.

Perhaps it was not too late for T’Les to correct her miscalculation. The family would bring scandal upon itself for backing out of the wedding mere minutes before its commencement, but that was of little consequence. After T’Pol’s curt rejection of Koss and his parents three years ago, then P’Jem, then T’Pol’s public rebuke of Ambassador Soval following the Paraagon tragedy, T’Les and family scandal were old companions. Yet another disreputable incident would be a small price to pay to ensure her daughter’s contentment after so much injustice.

A soft knock at her door interrupted her ruminations. It was one of the priest’s attendants, come to inform her that T’Pol was ready, and that Koss and his parents had arrived. Tucker had not yet joined them.

T’Les would have a moment, then, to speak with the commander in private.

Part 8

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